Chapter 3: Letting Go

“Derek, why are you still not saying anything? Don’t judge him just because of the rumors, okay? I know what people say, but you don’t know him like I do.”

Natalie was already set on her answer—leaning forward, her voice low, like she wanted me to be her alibi. If her parents found out, she could say I let her go. I’d always been the one to take the fall.

When we were kids, she broke Mrs. Jenkins’s window and I took the blame. At twelve, she copied my science project and I let her. It was always me playing big brother, smoothing over her messes. Maybe I thought I was noble, but now I saw it for what it was.

A knot twisted in my stomach. I didn’t want to be her shield anymore.

Natalie changed tactics, flashing her practiced puppy-dog eyes. “Please, please,” she begged, voice sweet as syrup, hands clasped.

Just as I was about to cave, a commotion erupted in the hallway—chairs scraping, whispers rising. All eyes shot to the door.

Tyler stood there, leather jacket, hair artfully messy, confidence radiating off him. Even I had to admit—he looked like he belonged on a magazine cover.

He leaned against the frame and said, “Decided yet? You coming or not?” The dare in his tone made the whole class hold its breath.

Girls whispered, “He’s here for Natalie. But isn’t she supposed to be with Derek?”

“Are you kidding? If you had to pick, obviously Tyler!” someone snickered, and I felt my cheeks flush.

Tyler kicked the doorframe, silencing the room with a single threat.

Natalie looked at me, pleading silently. I forced my voice steady: “Go if you want. I can’t control you.” My hands trembled under the desk, but I let her go.

Natalie jumped up, hugging me—her perfume lingering, classmates erupting in cheers. The hug was quick, but it burned. Old me would’ve replayed it for days; now, it just felt hollow.

Tyler stepped between us, shooting me a look that was half challenge, half warning. “Hey, nerd—snitch on us and you’ll be sorry.” He snatched my glasses, tossing them on the desk, smirking.

I put my glasses back on, voice cold: “I won’t be your shield. If you don’t want me tutoring you, tell your parents.”

Natalie shoved a lunchbox at me—Mrs. Grant’s familiar handwriting on the note inside, “Don’t let Natalie slack off!”—then ran after Tyler, the classroom buzzing in her wake.

I sat down, picking at my lunch, feeling emptier than ever.